


The Golden Sword

by GumTree



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week 2016, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8179259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GumTree/pseuds/GumTree
Summary: In such a dull business, Brienne never thought she'd be part of this water cooler gossip-turned-fairy tale, or that Jaime would help perpetuate it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts).



> Dedicated to: ikkiM who asked and encouraged so sweetly (although not for _this_ in particular,) the fantastic folks that participate in the Chat over at JB.com, the board members, and generally anyone here that's written JB as I'm humbled by everyone else's creativity and talent.

**_____________________________________________________________________________**

 

Margaery Tyrell had a beautiful smile and remained unhindered in using it to her advantage.  Brienne had only seen it falter once and tried to admonish herself at the near pride she felt at being the cause.  

"Please, Brienne, I know you're shy, but --"

“If Sansa truly is doing what you say, she would invite me herself,” she said with more confidence than she felt.  Margaery and their innocent-eyed friend they shared had been nothing but kind to Brienne, a common courtesy she had not come to expect until entering the adult work force.  Even so, they were all at least five-hundred miles away from home, staying at a rather nice hotel on corporate’s dime.  The expectation was that they were to be adequately trained during the day and surely night time was intended for sleep and studying, not doing gods-only-knew-what with adult toys. 

Margaery shook her head diplomatically.  “Every _Sensual Sensations_ newbie gets a free coordinator for their first event.  It was more difficult than you’d think to get that particular bag through airport security, so you can imagine she’s a little… so, I took over the list.”

Without a thought, Brienne nodded in sympathy.  Although she and Sansa were barely past the stage of occasionally trailing a group of coworkers post-shift to a local sports bar, a colorful daiquiri for the freshly-graduated girl and buffalo chicken sliders for Brienne, she could still imagine Sansa’s furious blush.  Though it was no doubt far more becoming than the uncomfortable and unwanted flush Brienne could feel rising.  Margaery had the grace to pretend not to notice.

“You know the rent in King’s Landing.  Think of it was a modern-day Tupperware party.  Think of it as everyone else in our training group said yes, even Sandor Clegane.”  

Brienne huffed.  The man was nearly twice Sansa’s age and did shoddy work.  Although Brienne had never caught him overtly breaking company policy, he certainly didn't follow the Standard Claim Procedures manual.  She briefly imagined herself attending, if only for Sansa's protection. 

“Everyone?” Brienne challenged, “You invited the entire training group?”

The corner of Margaery’s delicate mouth tugged upward.  “Not me, Sansa.  And yes, everyone but _the Dragon_."

Brienne pursed her lips and clutched her binder of notes and policies to her chest, the memory of him shrieking at her, louder than the fire alarm at her flashed through her mind.  She worked to suppress an apology she did not owe as another image came to mind, the same unstable young man spending the night alone.  In the same fashion, she resisted taking a step backward as Margaery leaned like she was sharing gossip.  

“He can barely stand to be on the same team as Ser Jaime, the same hotel room is not going to work.”

Brienne's mouth went dry and wished she could forget the day Jaime had earned that name nearly as much as she wished not so many people knew about it.

_At her boiling point and struggling not to show it, Brienne let Lannister think he had won.  She turned to reason with his cubicle-neighbor again.  Every other employee had exited the building, most happy for the reprieve from phone calls and paper work the company fire drill provided.  However, Catelyn Stark, herself, had tapped Brienne as the department fire monitor, entrusting her with a bright-orange vest and the safety of even trouble-makers like these two._

_“I am charged with seeing that everyone safely exits the building.  The East stairwell--”_

_Viserys shot to his feet with a screech, fast enough that Brienne had to side-step his rolling swivel chair, and released a tirade that stopped even Jaime Lannister's laughter._

_“No! I said_ no _, you stupid…_ beast _of a woman!  I am the Dragon. I_ am _the Dragon!”_

 _And so he spoke: Viserys, of the blood of Old Valyria, as he styled himself: true associate lead, a true dragon both immune to fire and the worthless commands of a stupid, ugly, common_  'wench' _as herself._

_Brienne faltered to her other name fall so easily, dripping with hateful mocking from another man's lips.  She hadn't realized she'd looked to Jaime or why, perhaps wondering what one blonde man might have said to another.  'Not him,' her mind desperately whispered as Jaime's gaze caught hers.  Unable to look away, she watched green eyes flash from surprise, to denial, and then something dark and indiscernible just before Jaime's own chair skittered backward._

_Within the hour, Brienne shifted as far as possible to her end of the uncomfortable gray couch in the H.R. office.  Although the solid oak door of the director was practically sound-proof, Viserys' screeching still rang in her mind.  His accusations had moved from Brienne to Jaime, branding him a traitor for daring to protect such a creature without reason, unless he and she were secretly fu--_

_“He was a cunt even before his sister was promoted, everyone knows that.”_ _Concern was smeared across Jaime’s face like the specks of blood from Vieserys' nose on his knuckles.  Even if they cared enough to listen to his nonsense, no one’s going to blame_ you _.”_

_“You should have just left."_

_At the end of the day, no one believed Viserys but Jaime refused to explain his own actions or even apologize.  Brienne had been told as much when they called her into the director's office while Jaime still stood before that massive desk.  He barely spared her a glance and that frustrated Brienne as much as it confused her.  When asked, Brienne wrung her large hands and wracked her mind.  She'd likely never know why Jaime had done it, if it had truly been for her, only that he had--_

_"He saved me."  The words fell from Brienne before she could even think to cringe.  Instead, she straightened her spine, gave a detailed verbal report, and prayed that her spotless reputation might be enough to carry them through._

_Punishment had not come from management but from the tale that began to wind around the office, a juicier story than even the time little Pia inserted money enough for one candy bar into the vending machine and received three.  It was Ser Jaime now, they called him, particularly the ladies of the office.  He handsome claims specialist who acted the valiant knight in order to battle a vicious dragon for the honor of a maiden not-so-fair._

"I don't think he likes that name," she lied.  It was a vast improvement over 'Dragonslayer.'

Margaery’s smile turned practically mischievous. “He asked me if ‘Lady Brienne’ was planning to attend."

Brienne felt herself turn several shades, each more unattractive than the last, having almost forgotten her newest title, though it was far kinder than any other the others.  “Why-- What did you say?"

Margaery took a moment to answer and, for the briefest moment, Brienne was able to discern that the delicate social butterfly was deciding if she should tell her the truth.  Still, Brienne would not plead.  "That you were already invited, of course.  But I'm not a miracle worker.  So, if he agreed to help us set-up, I'd plead the case in person."

Three-and-a-half hours later, Brienne marveled at how easy it was to be embarrassed to be one of the few in a room not holding an obscenely shaped party favor.  Even Sandor Clegane looked utterly unaffected clutching two small prizes that he’d won in his over sized hand, despite an utter lack of participation.

“Wench.”  The word caressed her ear, gentle as the voice that called her.  Only he could turn an insult into something that sounded so much like unspoken affection, Brienne knew and scoffed against the thought.  His voice was followed by an unexpected touch to the same delicate skin of her ear, causing Brienne to nearly lose her balance at the very corner of one of the two queen-sized beds in the room that Sansa and Margaery shared.  

Brienne twisted about to see Jaime Lannister sitting closer than he had ever dared before, one hand raised in surrender, the other holding a phallic lollipop in a neon shade that did nothing for his seemingly-earnest eyes.  It must have been the ribbon to tickle her, Brienne realized, delicate white curls tied just below the candy’s base that fell loose about Jaime’s wrist, though it did not do anything to make her feel any better to know such a thing had been so close to her ear.

“You can have one of mine,” he said with a lopsided smile.  

“Not. interested,” Brienne hissed with narrowed eyes, then turned before she once more lost all hope of controlling the coloring of her face, just in time to see Sansa pick up a large pale pink dildo.  Brienne noticed the flush in her friend’s cheek and realized with mild sadness that it likely had more to do with the patient gaze of Clegane, rather than embarrassment at how the bulbous head of the toy squished between her fingers like an over-puffed marshmallow.  

“This one is called, um, the ‘Plushie of Pentos’.  It has three speeds and-- and as you can see is very, very soft.”  

The toy was slowly passed through the throng of people that had jammed themselves into an otherwise reasonably-sized hotel-room, beginning its journey from left to right, one overcrowded bed to the next.  Half-way through someone saw fit to test the vibrating function.  Brienne’s height both allowed her to remain on guard and see how half the shaft started to twist and twirl in silly circles.

“Incoming!” someone from the other bed shouted, perhaps to Daenerys Targaryen as it was towards her lap where the toy arced obscenely through the air then landed, triggering what felt like an earthquake on the bed and then a sex toy riot.  Yara Greyjoy threw her head back in laughter.  Daenerys ejected the toy from her person as though it were a poisonous sand snake.  Ellaria crooned in pity at her poor, backward co-workers that both tired and failed to wrangle the merchandise that flailed between them, either laughing or squealing as though they were in imminent danger.  Brienne tried vainly to make herself smaller towards the very end of the bed, torn between fighting to keep what was left of her already tiny perch or sliding to the safety of the floor as the hideous toy wiggled inevitably in her direction, just as she knew it would.  

She barely suppressed an unladylike sound of her own as Jaime’s strong arm caught her about the waist, his large hand grasping her at the hip.  His candy prize had been lost and forgotten in the skirmish, his keen eyes on the hopelessly rumpled bedspread beneath them all, even as Brienne could hear the telltale _wwwhhhiiirrr_ of the unseen toy’s motor as it crept closer.  Brienne’s eyes widened with realization of what Jaime was hunting, and she began to squirm in earnest.  If he even thought about bringing that thing near her ear…!

“Trust me,” he implored before Brienne could yell or bruise him, then caught the toy like a bear snatching a wriggling trout from a steam. “Clegane, catch!” he shouted with a laugh and tossed the offending object across the room.  

Thankfully, Jaime had shit for aim with his left hand.  The merchandise bounced harmlessly off of the wall and was quickly intercepted and deactivated by Margaery as though the incident had never occurred.  Brienne noticed with relief then concern that Clegane’s attention -- and by extension fists, as though Jaime needed any more enemies -- had likely never once left Sansa, who had sank with laughter to the edge of her dresser, hr hands clutching her sides.  Two points of slow-seeping warmth reminded Brienne that someone was holding her own sides.  She shifted tentatively to feel Jaime, for unknown reasons, had nestled himself against her back and prayed that no one was watching her either.  

“Your protection is unnecessary, _Ser,_ ” she mumbled lowly enough for just him to hear, trying to emphasize how ridiculous they might look, what he was feeding into.  No one important at the office had been unkind thus far, but why couldn't he think?  Why couldn't he see, like she could that they--?

His laughter was warm enough to make her shiver, nearly as kind a sound as Brienne had ever heard him utter as she tried and failed to uncover any hint of mocking. “It’s yours.  You can save me the next time, if you’d like.  You've done so before.”  

It took too long for Brienne to gather her words.  It always seemed to happen that way with him.  Prompted by her silence, Jaime freed one arm to point around her right side and to the display table full of carefully erected merchandise.  “Lady Brienne,” he addressed her in a way that made her want to elbow him, as though they were in on the joke together. “Do you see that fine ‘sword’ there?  Did I ever tell you I spent time as a model just after my father disinherited me for the first time?”

“You were?” Brienne asked with suspicion and something that wasn't quite dread tugging within her.  From a conversation that neither of them should have ever had, two unlikely souls thrust together in the midst of a near-thankless job, Brienne knew the latter part of the confession was true, but a model? She supposed, he was vain and attractive enough to make it believable.  

“Mhmm.”  Jaime nodded into her shoulder, speaking just loudly enough so that she could hear.  “I refused to follow the family business and needed a job to pay for my schooling.  Well, they didn't specify what type of model."

Brienne was paralyzed, caught between Jaime’s arms, her own growing realizations, and unwanted, flustered nerves better suited to someone Sansa’s age.  Her eyes followed the slight girl as Jaime continued, one lily white hand slipping out of Sandor Clegane’s as she stepped back towards the desk covered in black velvet, reaching towards the very item Jaime was describing.

“They molded that one after me.  You know, I almost got them to let me name it, but the contract fell through at the last moment…”

Brienne swallowed thickly as Sansa, with growing confidence, grasped the shaft of a lush color that could only be described as  _Lannister gold._

“This one is called, oh,” Sansa paused to heft the item in her hands, shifted her grip as she glanced at the catalog, then finished with a pretty smile, “'Goldencock the Just.'”  

 

**_____________________________________________________________________________**

 

Jaime took a deep and quiet breath outside the door which Sansa had assured him would be Brienne's and knocked quietly, convinced of his power to scare an otherwise stubborn maiden away.  A different man might visit his tall, strikingly-blue-eyed wench with flowers or a box containing candy, not a golden dildo.  Jaime ignored the voice in his mind that told him he was taking this game so far, that a straight-lace like Brienne Tarth saw nothing in him.  He ignored two distinctly different aches, one in his chest, one below the waist, both of them from them born of the same blonde source, and knocked again, louder this time. 

Jaime couldn't tell if his wench had been more or less skittish since he punched Viserys those months ago.  Even so, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.  Jaime had been content to let nature follow its course, knowing someone else would eventually grow tired of his deranged outbursts and entitled raving, worse than any alleged Lannister, but then he’d picked a fight with Brienne, who at one point looked as though she may hoist the boy over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry and physically remove him from their obviously-not-on-fire office, had it not been against company policy.  Jaime would have never let Catelyn Stark name him an honorary anything, let alone a ridiculous fire monitor, but Brienne hadn't listened to him, and for the trouble of crawling out from her shell she received nothing but shit from that mewling cunt.  

It was all so bizarre that Jaime might not have done it, if she hadn't looked at him in a way that somehow stopped his breath, as though he were the one saying those vicious words to her, as though she was remembering months, no, years ago when some of the same vocabulary had fallen so carelessly from his lips, but never with such purpose or hate.  It was as though, in that moment, Brienne actually cared what he thought, might have asked him: _is it true?_  Thankfully, the shit storm he’d been expecting had never arrived.  Jaime wasn't certain if he was more grateful for himself or for Brienne, who would have needlessly felt guilt as it had all been her fault or so Viserys had screamed.  In truth, Jaime had defended Brienne’s honor as much as his own, but those were thoughts that were better left at the bottom of a liquor bottle.  

Jaime had struck Viserys’ nose with enough force that he half-expected allegations that he and Brienne were sleeping together to arise, but it simply hadn't happened.  Catelyn Stark was oddly protective of her new pet, unwilling to let her be sullied by the Lannister name, Jaime had been told with a snort.  And somehow his shy wench had found a way in within the good graces of Margaery Tyrell and her flowery sphere of influence. Somehow, at the end of it all, Jaime found himself knighted for slaying the ridiculously self-proclaimed ‘dragon’ King of the Assholes, and Brienne had been named his "lady" -- it was a narrative he did not hesitate to quietly affirm with the ladies of the department, particularly the young, gossipy things that tittered about Margaery Tyrell.  Gods only knew how she found out tonight.  

He’d tried to explain to Brienne that all the good knights had a lady with honor beyond reproach or at the very least a blushing maiden to save, and then she’d turned no less than three different captivating colors, nearly at once, and pushed him off the bed or, as she’d called it, his ridiculous pedestal of courtly ideals.

Alas, now here he stood, heart on one hand, golden cock his wench had purchased to spite him in the other.  He couldn't help the snort of disbelief when Sansa Stark had told him half as much in pity, entrusting him to make the delivery, a flimsy golden ticket to gain entry to see Brienne, who sulked alone in her room while next to everyone else went drinking in the hotel lounge.  

The door opened to Jaime’s surprise.  He shifted to what he hoped was an easy-going, non-punchable smile, and waggled the box.  “Delivery for Miss Tarth?”

“Shut up.”  Brienne’s eyes rolled, but she still reached out.  

“Really, wench, if you wanted to become more familiar with my cock, you could have just asked--”  Her grip was as gentle as it was firm on his wrist as she quickly pulled him inside. Jaime might have imagined Brienne’s bedroom once or twice, and although a hotel room didn't necessarily count, he hadn't expected sheets strewn about, a television set flickering about on mute, and tiny little bottles sat about.  “What happened here?”

“‘I only rescue maidens,’ Jaime, really?  In front of everyone?”  

It wasn't as though anyone had been paying attention amidst the cocks, he wanted to say, then thought better of it. “All this from the mini bar?  I’d be more worried about your _per diem_.”  

Brienne simply huffed.

“Is this,” Jaime asked, holding up the boxed sex-toy in one hand, “what this is all about?” he asked, gesturing to the state of her quarters.  “I hadn't thought you a dove whose delicate feathers were so easily ruffled.  Do you even know how one of these works?”

Brienne practically tore the glossy cardboard from his hands with a look that would have made a better man wince.  Instead, Jaime dutifully sighed and followed her across the room.

“Here, sweetling, before you hurt yourself,” he said more gently than intended, his hands enfolding those nearly as large as his own, pulling at sharp corners, stiff flaps, and clear tape in order to rescue the overly-expensive toy from its prison.  Either to celebrate their success or that Brienne hadn't elbowed him, Jaime pressed his lips to her burning cheek, simultaneously hiding a smile too shy for him to let her see -- not yet, anyway.  Maybe one day, if he were lucky.

“I hope I didn't ruin my chances?” he ventured more tentatively than he should have felt.  “I did apologize, if you remember.  Ask you to dinner?” he tried to prompt her memory.  “Coffee, anything?”

Jaime stepped away, willing to give her an inch of space, if that’s what it took, but not much more when she could so easily and needlessly run again.  Another man might have wondered or known if all women took this much patience, ingenuity, armor to get close to.  

Brienne gave him the oddest look, absently fondling the toy’s burnished balls.  It made him squirm for more than the growing pressure in his pants.  “You make yourself difficult to trust,” she finally said.  

“What can I say to that?” Jaime asked, unsure of what even she meant, if the words had some hidden sense or if the alcohol had robbed them, but he took offense all the same and pulled away to plop unceremoniously on the end of Brienne’s king-sized bed.  Like him, she had chosen to room alone and gotten the longer end of the stick for it.  When Jaime looked up, he was certain he was pouting as much as Brienne’s eyes had no right to be so blue.  She was pointing the golden toy to him like an olive branch, and Jaime shook his head.

“ _Really?_ This is about the golden cock?  Brienne, can’t you take a--”

“I’d like to investigate your claim,” Brienne said, tone dark enough to match the room’s interior, voice so soft that Jaime nearly missed it, and gods knew how his affliction had grown, on his worst days often hanging on the overgrown woman’s every word.  Even now, his breath caught to see Brienne bite her lip just like she would when she’d uncovered the key to a particularly taxing investigation, armed with the skills to close.  

"Take- Take off your pants,” she attempted to command, not quite making it yet still succeeding in helping Jaime’s fingers fumble in his excitement.  He was silently thankful that he had joined their fellow trainees for a drink of two prior to coming here, waiting vainly for Brienne to join them before an already tipsy Sansa Stark had convinced him otherwise, simultaneously judging and attempting to help him.  Or Brienne.  Some part of the little Stark must have thought his presence would make Brienne happy, he’d told himself again and again on his way to her room.  

Jaime paused on the bed and waited, hair falling in his eyes. Brienne gave a partial nod of approval.  

“All of it, Lannister.  That- That means boxer-briefs, too.”  

“I thought we wouldn't get to this part until our first date, unless that _Mary Kay_ sex-toy party was it?”  

“Jaime--”

He tutted and sighed as he resolved himself to the not-so-chilly air around them, warmed by a mixture of eagerness, perhaps mild embarrassment, and Brienne’s burning gaze.  Jaime did his best to match it.  “I could have done much better, had I known -- still can, you know that, don’t you?  I hear there’s a decent Braavosi restaurant by…”  Jaime stopped talking when he felt the bed dip beside him, under Brienne’s weight.  He tensed to see 'Goldencock' still clutched in her hand.  “What are you planning to do with that?”

“It doesn't look like you.”  Despite the silly words, Jaime smiled at the closeness of her lips, the warmth of her hand on his knee.  

“Of course,” he sweetly agreed, a flash of his tongue wetting his lips in anticipation of hers. “It’s dipped in gold, has suction-cup balls, and just who do you think has anatomy to inspire ribbing like _that_?”  In his weak defense, when he’d first spotted the golden toy, it hadn't looked nearly as ridiculous from his vantage point in the room.  It appeared harmless for teasing Brienne.

“Then what did I buy it for?” Brienne asked in a way that made Jaime think she might just want an answer. The disappointment was palpable in his voice.  

“I don’t know,” he said, more kindly than he might have in another situation, and debated how to best kiss the wench, what it might take for it to be her idea to move her hand upward before he broke down and asked nicely.  “It looks just as ridiculous on the box. You can’t think all men-- You  _have_ seen one before, haven’t you?” he asked, eyes dark.  His hand cupped Brienne’s flushed cheek, and his thumb swept over her lips, even as she tried to speak, the majority of her apprehension having been put to bed with alcohol.

Brienne shook her head slightly.  “No, not… not like this. In person.  It’s… bigger than I thought,” she added, and Jaime nearly preened in pride.  After all, the toy she held was rather large.  He would see to it that they got rid of that.

“Brienne…”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to kiss you.”  Having given fair warning, brushed his lips to the corner of her mouth, catching and ending a soft sigh uttered just for him.  Just as Jaime was beginning to suspect  Brienne was beginning to share a similar infatuation with him and gods only knew or cared where it came from, her gentle was hand creeping up his knee, to his thigh, over and inward.  She pulled away.

Jaime’s almost-purr turned into a gentle growl.  She hadn't gone far, his hand that slid to the back of her neck saw to that.  The skin was maddeningly soft he thought, rubbing his thumb in circles about the knot at the top of her spine.  

“I’m not some… blushing, skittish maiden you have to--”

“Of course not,” he said with a gentleness nearly natural enough to surprise even him, then resumed the kiss.  As each of them took comfort in the soft plushness of the other’s mouth, it didn't matter that they bumper noses once, twice more before finding the best method, then thoroughly losing themselves.  Jaime smiled to Brienne’s quiet sounds of contentment and, as they continued to part her lip, pressed his tongue to hers.  She was a surprisingly good kisser, sweetly eager, but unable to keep up.  Their foreheads rested together for a moment.  

“Instead you left me, alone to drink with your pet stark and Margaery Tyrell.  Do you think I enjoy entertaining the gossip of your fellow ladies, just to catch a hint of where you are?  It's not the first time."

Brienne stilled, seemed to catch herself half-snort, then fell into him again as she dissolved into giggles, leaning heavily on his shoulder, her hand closer than ever to his knightly ‘sword.’ “Jaime, what am I going to do with you?  I think… I.  I”m going to touch you,” she said suddenly and with such quiet conviction that Jaime wasn't certain if he’d heard her correctly.  This time, when she pulled a few inches backward, he allowed it.  Her eyes were dark with what looked to be mischief, but they searched his for what Jaime realized was consent.  

_Ever the honorable lady._

At first, Jaime could only swallow, his throat overly dry, his tongue thick, then he nodded.  Brienne’s large hand laid on his upper-chest, barely taking time to caress him with long fingers before leveraging him backward, downward.  Jaime had lost sight of her other hand without a thought, until it slid smoothly into his lap and wrapped about his straining cock.  He groaned deeply, his hips giving an involuntary jerk.  It certainly wasn't the first.

Brienne whined in a way that did nothing for his control, her hand once more at his chest, although his shoulder blades were firmly nestled in the bedspread below. “You’re supposed to stay down.”  

Jaime answered through clenched teeth. “Easier said than done, wench. Would you like a demonstration?"

Her breath caught, and Jaime’s cock grew even harder, arcing desperately towards her and the sight of her and the thick lips she nibbled in thought.  He closed his eyes to the sight, reminded himself that this was not a drill, this was not a dream, and she’d barely touched him yet.  

“I think… if I do it… this, to you, right, you won’t be getting up anytime soon.  That’s how it works, right?”

With that, she descended on him again, the tips of her fingers landing first, maddeningly light over his head.  He clenched his jaw as Brienne slowly drew through more than one drop of fluid that had escaped in greedy anticipation.  An undignified sound came from his tightening throat as she gripped him a bit too firmly, nearly the same way Sansa had explored the texture of that ridiculous pink toy.  Brienne’s grip slid downward, to his base and while he hoped she didn't intend to try to jerk him off dry, he was having trouble finding words to guide her, so that he wasn't squeezed like a tube of toothpaste.  

“Look, Jaime, hard already,” she said with a pride that was nearly naive as the sentiment was delayed, and that wrenched the first curse from his lips.  Of course he was hard.  He was surprised his balls weren't some ridiculous shade of blue to compliment that ridiculous toy, all the time he’d spent following her before he’d realized the cause, exacerbated by her coy smiles, lips that he’d but tasted just tonight, her damnable insistence on following the company’s honor-code to a fault, it was too much for a man, and the way that he noticed she looked at him now, like--

“We should skip ahead,” she asserted softly, the words humidly caressing the tip of his cock, causing Jaime to buck and moan his reply.  A too-long pause.  Jaime chanced a look at Brienne.  She was watching in a way she never had before, her eyes a midnight blue, lips red from biting, he supposed and then thought he should have been the one to do that.  He wanted to be the one to do that, if she’d have him.  If he’d the willpower, he would have leaned up to kiss them, help put her in a place just as torturous as his own and make it last longer for them both.

“Please,” he said instead.  Honesty and humility rarely hurt with her, and Brienne rewarded him by switching hands, a grip gentle as it was secure about his shaft.  She watched and held him distractedly, as though worried he might leave before she was finished her innocent game, before she finished experimentally tasting him on her own fingertips.  His eyes fixated on her lips, large and inviting, as they pursed, then puckered, then pressed a maiden’s kiss to the swollen head of his cock.  Jaime’s hand fisted the fabric below as Brienne pulled backward but not away.  Of course he had moved. She spanned those long fingers over his stomach, curling about his hip, warning him to stay with her eyes.  

But she too was distracted.  The point of her tongue dabbed experimentally at her surprisingly soft lips.  Brienne hummed her approval and descended upon him, one delicate lick becoming another, broader, firmer, first up one side of his head and then down the other, taking a chance to swirl about.  Her hand was damp, easing the movement of her returning palm that encased him and moved intermittently, a few centimeters or so to the left, to the right, first tentatively up and then down.  She leaned her weight over his legs, unconsciously pinning him to the bed as her mouth and hand worked lazily, out-of-sync, yet inevitably to end him, tasting him as though he were a treat, as though she enjoyed…

He had died, Jaime thought breathlessly under Brienne; he had somehow died a glorious death in reward for a monotonous job, for even his dreams had never been this vibrant, this delicious, had ever brought him so close to the imagined sensation of Brienne.  Her other hand slipped from his hip down and under his balls, just a touch at first, then to cup and carefully roll.  Or he was alive, he reasoned, just as all but carnal sense left him.  He was alive and here, with Brienne and, after besmirching her honor, Jaime would promise to kill the fuck that had taught his innocent wench such things before he could even touch her like this. The thought would not occur to him that Brienne was a grown woman with an Internet browser or might have come across another piece of merchandise, an instructional book.  

But it didn't matter now, nothing mattered aside from Brienne’s plush lips passing wetly over his head, taking him in until she kissed the top of her lightly twisting fist, her tongue brushing hotly against him again and again and -- fuck.

Jaime hadn't been paying attention like Brienne obviously had.  Her eyes burned, taking him in as she took pride in each hitch of his breath, each uttered groan, the jerkiness of his hips as he tried to exercise a lion’s restraint, the frantic rippling over the muscles of his abdomen, all as she worked him as much as she dared, all unrelenting until Jaime Lannister came, completely undone under her mouth, hands, and shameless gaze.  

She had never stopped watching.  She had wanted him.  Jaime lay trembling atop the bed as she pulled away, watching her now, the bit of fluid escape her lips, her determination faltering, even as she murmured something about him tasting than the bitter spirits of the mini bar.  Brienne assessed him in a way that only she could, searching for something she never named and that Jaime doubted she could ever find until she smiled at him like that, her blush returning even as her hands ghosted over his hips, sides, stomach, even his nipples, as though she was only beginning to understand how she affected him.  

Jaime fought for his breath, all but her forgotten.  “Wench.”

“Brienne,” she corrected from habit, a touch of wonder in her voice.  No doubt against her better judgment, she further came to his side, daring to lie down next to the lion with a shy, toothy smile of her own, her abused bottom lip red for his attention.  Before he could kiss her, she raised her hand, gently brushing sweaty locks back from his forehead.  He wasn't sure why that gesture of tenderness took him by surprise, delayed him in such a way, but she took the initiative to kiss him again, a soft motion cut short by her own apology as she remembered where her lips had been.  

Jaime was uncaring and pulled his wench to him, his arm wrapping about her waist and hand traveling up and under her shirt, holding her at the small of her back as he purred in contentment.

“Brienne,” he conceded.  There was no need to fight his wench on everything, not when she was already irreparably flushed.  Jaime smiled and pressed against her lips one sweet placating kiss and then another.  He would surely have the rest of the night to remind her that a Lannister always pays his debts.

**Author's Note:**

> Had it not been for an excerpt of destitute brothel!Tywin/Bronn as a joke, this would have been my very first fandom contribution; therefore, any and all comments and/or constructive criticism welcome. Written in honor of JB Week!


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